Smoke and Ashes

It’s smoke season in Washington, when the hot summer has baked our grass and forests and brushlands for months and the slightest spark can set everything ablaze. In the west, where we live, we’re mostly sheltered from fire risk because of the months of rain that fill our rivers and lakes and reservoirs. But the smoke from the east, and south, and sometimes north has a habit of coming down and parking over us for days, if not weeks, on end.

Before moving out here, I never knew that the weather forecast could just say “Smoke". Now, our kids know how to check the air quality, that they have to stay inside until it’s clear, and that the windows stay closed until the weatherman says we can open them again. Smoke was one of the main reasons we got a heat pump last year - it gets awfully hot and stuffy on day 5 of breathing recycled air.

When we moved to Washington 16 years ago, it wasn’t like this. I remember heat waves, and of course the occasional word about wildfires out west, but my life wasn’t affected, not in the least. But a decade of drought takes its toll. Things are changing. And I’m scared.

I’m scared that I’ll look back at this blog and think, “5 days of smoke? Ha! Try 3 months!”

I’m scared that we’ll someday have to evacuate.

I’m scared that my kids will grow up in a world where they can’t have campfires and grills and fireworks because the risk is just too high.

I believe in the resiliency of the human spirit, which is why I tend not to get too overwhelmed by the big threats of our time. No point in worrying, just do the work and together we’ll figure it out. And we have. Our house now has an air filter and our power company is strategically shutting off powerlines to prevent fire risk and we know how to check the air quality and when it is and isn’t safe to be outside.

But I...don’t want to adapt. I don’t want to look up in the sky and see a red sun and feel a scratchy throat and worry what parts of their lives my kids will have to cut off to simply survive. Beyond that, I know that it could be worse. In Pakistan, floods have created a new lake where houses once stood. We’ve watched Texas freeze over and rivers dry up in France and Australia burn.

Some moments it all feels so overwhelming, so I do everything not to think about the big problems. Let me stress about whether the tomatoes are growing or if my kid’s coat will fit them again this year or if the car repairs will last until next year or if I need to go car shopping now. Still, the big problems are always there, looming. And if I do manage to forget them, my car windshield, covered in ash, reminds me.

I remember that humans have survived terrible things in the past, and that their resiliency was no less than my own. I remember that worrying never made anything better. I remember that when hard times come (and they always do) the solution never comes from one person, but from a community pulling together, and that the work we do now to build those communities are the exact thing we should be doing.

Community building seems to me a lot like exercise. I don’t know what health challenges I’ll face as I age. It might be cancer, or heart disease, or something degenerative, like MS or ALS. But what I do know is that being healthier will help me to face those things. And I’m not talking about weight here. Muscle strength, cardiovascular health, a diet that makes my body work well, hydration, rest (!) - these are the elements that will give me the best chances of staying well for as long as I can.

Community building is the same. We don’t know what will come - drought, floods, fires? But I know that a community that is used to giving and receiving support will be better off whatever comes. Because three years ago, who would have expected a pandemic? Who would have known that so many would die?

And yet, our communities have made it through. My own touchpoint is through my children’s schools and I can’t even describe the sheer amount of time and thoughtfulness that went into shepherding them through the vicissitudes of the last few years. We had no idea how to do any of the thousand things we had to do for these kids. Until we figured it out. Together.

Yesterday afternoon, I looked outside and saw the blue skies peeking through the clearing clouds. Relief washed over me and I ran around the house opening windows, smiling. I know that more smoke will come. Hopefully not til next year, but maybe next week. Either way, though, we’ll get through it, like we always do. Together.